


A Helping Hand

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Banter, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14284515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: A mission to the Outer Rim helps Obi-Wan Kenobi and Dexter Jettster become friends, rather than mere acquaintances.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thymesis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy recip!

Out beyond the viewport, Outland Station hung in the darkness of space, twinkling with bright points of light like a galaxy in miniature.

Obi-Wan hated to admit that his mind wasn’t on the job, but he was a Jedi, and Jedi dealt in the truth. Though new and still fragile, since leaving the Temple his tenuous training bond with Anakin had been tingling with misery and anguish, the emotions getting fainter and fainter as Obi-Wan’s ship carried him further into the Outer Rim.

He hated leaving Anakin behind at this early stage in their training; he knew the boy wasn’t quite sure it was all real, was just waiting for the moment the Jedi Masters changed their minds and kicked him out onto the street. Obi-Wan would never let that happen, but Anakin didn’t trust him yet, either. The unfortunate truth was that Anakin would have to get used to his master going on missions alone; there were some assignments too dangerous for a padawan, especially one as young as Anakin.

Obi-Wan only hoped he would survive those solo missions, for Anakin’s sake; his future would be much more uncertain without Obi-Wan in it.

The ship’s engines were powering down, preparing to come in to dock on the station. A cool voice crackled over the intercom. “Still about half a standard hour until you’ll be able to disembark, Master Jedi. Just sit tight for now.”

Obi-Wan assured the captain - a straight-talking Twi’lek woman called Asla - that he would stay right where he was, and spent the next thirty minutes watching as Outland Station grew larger and larger, soon filling the entire viewport.

The station streets were hot and smelled vaguely of spice when he finally stepped out of the docking bay. Beings of all kinds clustered in the narrow walkways, pushing into and past each other as they hurried to their destinations.

Obi-Wan checked his datapad. The shop he wanted was five levels down, on the Tyloc Ward.

No one paid him much attention as he pushed through the bustling crowd; Jedi weren’t a common sight this far out on the Rim, and no one seemed to recognise his robes for what they were. He blended seamlessly into the varied populace of the station.

The shop he’d been looking for was a neat, if slightly rough-looking place, with a sign above the door proclaiming its name in bright aqua neon. _Dex’s Expert Outfitters_ , Obi-Wan read, smiling to himself. Then he stepped forward and pushed the door open.

The huge Besalisk was the only one in the shop, and he looked up the moment Obi-Wan walked in. His face split into a big grin. “Obi-Wan Kenobi! And here was me thinking you hadn’t got my message!”

“Contrary to common belief, Jedi do actually have to get permission before we go charging off in search of criminals,” Obi-Wan said, finding himself smiling as well.

Dex came around the counter and unexpectedly pulled Obi-Wan into a big, four-armed hug. Obi-Wan tensed, expecting to have his breath crushed out of him, but Dex was surprisingly gentle. He chuckled as he pulled away. “You just tensed up like an angry lothcat.”

“You are somewhat physically intimidating to a spindly biped like me,” Obi-Wan said, grinning.

“I think you’re just touchy,” Dex said, but he was smiling as he said it. “Come on, let’s get a drink.”

“The shop…?”

Dex shrugged. “I’m not selling anything today anyway.”

“Business is slow?” Obi-Wan asked as they left the shop.

Dex shrugged again, a big movement that jostled all four of his arms. “I’m making a decent enough profit, though nothing like what I used to make at the bar. At least I don’t have to worry about it being legitimate, though,” he said, sending a sly sideways grin at Obi-Wan.

“I had nothing to do with busting your gun-running and you know it.”

“Wouldn’t be talking to you now if you’d had anything to do with it,” Dex said, still perfectly genial. “Seems a Jedi does, surprisingly, keep his word.”

“Surprisingly?”

“Most law enforcement officers aren’t so concerned with ‘honour’,” Dex said, as they turned into another street. “More like how much they can line their pockets.”

“That does tend to be a problem in the Outer Rim.”

“And it’s _not_ a problem in the Core?”

Obi-Wan’s smile was wry. “It’s _less_ of a problem.”

The streets they were walking through had become darker and more dingy the further they went, unbroken metal deck plating and relatively clean walkways being replaced by open piping and leaky coolant valves hissing steam into the hot air, while the deck under their feet became uneven and strewn with rubbish. “Are you taking me to the bad side of town?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to sound amused despite his misgivings.

“Best place to get a drink, if you know where to look.” Dex steered him with a hand on his arm. “In here.”

The bar Dex had chosen looked like a hundred other sleezy, backstreet bars and cantinas Obi-Wan had visited in his time as a padawan. The name _Budweiler’s_ was picked out in red neon above the double doors that led inside. “No idea who Budweiler is,” Dex said, nodding to the two bouncers as they passed, who both nodded back. “I figure maybe he was the guy who set this place up, and Relio’s just too cheap to change the name.”

The interior was dark and smoky, lit by copious amounts of gentle red light, with a circular bar in the centre and tables fanned out around the edges. A small stage with four metal poles currently stood empty. The place was about half-full, the other patrons hard to make out in the dim lighting.

Dex walked them up to the bar and ordered a mug of the local ale, along with a drink with a name Obi-Wan had never encountered. He presumed the ale was for him, until the drinks came and Dex set down a tall glass of acid green liquid in front of him. “House speciality,” he said.

Obi-Wan eyed it dubiously. “It looks…”

“Like engine fluid, I know. But the humans go mad for this stuff.”

Acutely aware that Dex had paid for the drink and that the polite thing would be to at least try it, Obi-Wan took a sip. The taste definitely wasn’t as vile as the colour suggested. “It’s…actually quite decent,” he said, taking another sip.

“And this from someone with delicate Coruscanti taste! A miracle,” Dex joked, grinning at him.

“The Jedi value asceticism and simple living, I’ll have you know. That includes food.” Mentally setting the joking aside, he continued, “So, you said you had lead on Garang.”

“That I do.” Dex sat back in his seat and studied Obi-Wan with a sudden serious air. “Wasn’t really expecting you to come, if I’m honest.”

“I might not have, but I just happen to be looking for the man myself.”

“Well, I knew you were _looking_ for the guy,” Dex said, “And by _you_ I mean the plural, Jedi _you_ , of course. Just didn’t expect the you, singular, Obi-Wan _you_ to show up. Thought you might pass it along to a colleague.”

Obi-Wan felt a fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Force works in mysterious ways.”

 “Not saying I’m _unhappy_ to see you, you understand,” Dex said, taking a swig from his mug. “Wouldn’t have offered any other Jedi a drink.”

“Not many other Jedi would have taken you up on the offer,” Obi-Wan said, “I’m the black nuna of the bunch.”

Dex nodded, and after another long swig he said in a lower, softer voice, “I heard about what happened on Naboo, by the way. Sorry about old Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan felt the familiar, still-painful tug on his heart at the thought of Qui-Gon. It had only been a few months since the battle, and the wound left by Qui-Gon’s death hadn’t quite healed over into a scar. “He died as he lived,” he said, his voice somewhat choked. He cleared his throat and continued, “Fighting evil. Doing good.”

Dex gave a slow nod. “A proper way to go, then.” After a moment of silence he said, “So, you work alone now?”

“Not all the time. I have a padawan of my own; Anakin Skywalker.”

“Anakin Skywalker,” Dex repeated, his face pulling down into a frown. “Anakin Skywalker. Now why do I know that name?”

“He might have been mentioned in the news coverage from Naboo. He managed to blow up a Trade Federation battleship.”

Dex raised his eyeridges. “That’s a Jedi for you. But no, it was something else…Ah, it’s just on the tip of my tongue.”

Obi-Wan thought for a minute. “Oh, he also won some big podracing…”

The moment the word podracing left his mouth, Dex clicked his fingers. “The Boonta Eve Classic! I remember now. Everyone was going crazy over it on the station. A _human_ winning a podracing event? No offense,” he added, “but your kind usually get smashed to a pulp.”

“A powerful connection to the Force increases a person’s reaction times,” Obi-Wan said, “It’s a limited form of precognition; anticipating events before they happen. Anakin has a very strong connection to the Force; that’s what allowed him to podrace.”

“So Jedi can see the future?” Dex looked intrigued.

Obi-Wan laughed. “If I had a credit for every time someone asked that question… But yes, Jedi can see the future, to a lesser or greater extent. For some Jedi it simply manifests as fast reaction times, being able to know what’s about to happen a few seconds before it does. But other Jedi have stronger powers; some see visions, usually while they’re asleep. There’s a whole order of Jedi Seers at the Temple.”

Something must have shown on his face, because Dex gave him a shrewd look and asked, “And you?”

Obi-Wan tried not to wince. “Yes, and me. Sometimes. Usually just… incoherent images in my sleep.”

“Hmm.” Dex sat back, clearly content not to push the subject any further, though Obi-Wan could tell he was still interested.

“But none of this tells me anything about Garang,” Obi-Wan said, bringing the discussion back to the reason he’d come.

“Right. Garang.” Dex drained his mug and signalled the bartender for another.  “I got something of a… network here on the station.”

Obi-Wan held up a hand. “I don’t want to know any of the sordid details.”

Dex chuckled. “I’ll bet you don’t. Anyway, one of my contacts saw Garang leaving a tapcaf on Iolya Level a week ago. Knew it was him because the bastard cheated him out of a big deal on Surresh, or so he claims. I checked it out, and it seems like he uses the tapcaf as a regular meeting spot. He definitely looks like the picture on the wanted poster.”

“You didn’t take a picture yourself?”

“Not that easy to be subtle when you look like me,” Dex said, “Not a lot of Besalisks on the station. We kinda stand out.”

“I can imagine.” Dex handed over a slip of flimsi with an address on it; Obi-Wan scanned it briefly before putting it in a pocket on his belt. “You said he regularly does business at this tapcaf. How regularly?”

“Haven’t been able to pick up any sort of pattern,” Dex said. “But if you hang out there long enough, I’m pretty sure he’ll show up.”

“Alright then.” Obi-Wan smiled at Dex. “Thank you for this. I’m hopeful he’ll have relevant information - if I can apprehend him and question him, that is.”

“You’re a Jedi,” Dex said, “What could go wrong?”

*

A lot could go wrong, as it turned out.

Obi-Wan had begun staking out the tapcaf the next day, lounging around at a table in a back corner. Not a lot of people on Outland Station were the type to sit around in a tapcaf with a good novel; most people here used this as a meeting spot for whatever dirty business they were involved in, which meant someone sitting alone would stick out like a sore thumb.

Luckily, Obi-Wan had Dex, who’d arranged for various members of his ‘network’ to appear throughout the day, sit down at Obi-Wan’s table, and pretend to conduct an interview. Dex sent him an interesting array of people, and Obi-Wan asked them questions about a fabricated mercenary job while he scanned the tapcaf. Some of the interviewees were quite passionate, and he found himself wondering if Dex had actually told most of them about the ruse.

He’d had to wait three days, but near lunchtime on the third day Garang had strolled into the tapcaf, casual and at ease. He didn’t notice Obi-Wan, who’d watched him out of the corner of his eye as he asked the bored Zeltron in front of him whether she had any previous experience with desert environments.

“No, but I can probably adapt,” the Zeltron had said, while Obi-Wan watched Garang greet a human man with a heavy, thickset face and dark hair.

“We’re always looking for talent and dedication, and your previous references are good,” Obi-Wan had said, shuffling the papers in front of him. “How about I let you know when we’ve made a decision?” he’d asked, eager for the Zeltron to leave so he could watch Garang properly.

“Whatever,” she’d said, and gotten up and left, leaving him with a perfect view of where Garang was sitting down across the tapcaf with the human man.

Obi-Wan had watched them, then tailed them out onto the street- and then he’d almost gotten caught in an ambush.

The Force had shouted a warning just in time, and he’d managed to dodge the man who’d stepped out of the shadows and tried to grab him. Garang and his associate had turned, clearly expecting the ambush, and had fired blaster blots at him as he’d attempted to escape into the crowd.

‘Attempted’ being the key word. Another thug had appeared to block the entrance to the alleyway they’d caught him in, and Obi-Wan had darted left and leapt up onto an overhanging balcony - where, of course, _another_ mercenary on a hovering speeder had been waiting. Now, having run backwards through the open door into the room beyond the balcony, Obi-Wan was somewhat trapped.

 _This is overkill for a man who started staking out the tapcaf three days ago,_ Obi-Wan thought. _He must suspect something. Maybe he knows who I am_.

The balcony door was still open, and Obi-Wan heard Garang’s voice echo through it. “I know you’re up there, spy! Why don’t you come down here so you can tell me who you work for?”

Obi-Wan forced himself to breathe in and out at a steady, measured pace. So Garang had no idea who he was; if they didn’t know he was a Jedi, he still had the element of surprise on his side.

There were five of them out there. Obi-Wan drew in another deep breath, closed his eyes, and extended his senses.

Points of light blazed all around him, a confusing mass of life and Force signatures. Obi-Wan forced himself to concentrate on the five sentients in the alley.

The woman on the speeder was hovering in the air opposite the doorway, and two of Garang’s men were below her at street level. Someone appeared to be trying to break into the house just below him, and Garang was standing right next to them.

Of course, that was the moment Obi-Wan’s commlink chose to go off.

A hail of blaster blots blazed in through the doorway, fizzing against the walls and scorching the carpet. Rolling his eyes at the woman’s lax trigger discipline, Obi-Wan answered the call. “Obi-Wan here.”

“Obi-Wan?” It was Dex’s voice. “Something wrong? Zeanna told me Garang turned up at the tapcaf.”

“And was expecting me, apparently,” Obi-Wan said. “Laid an ambush.”

Dex’s voice was full of sudden concern. “You alright?”

“Pinned down, took a hit. Not dead yet.” The thought swirled in the back of his mind that Dex might’ve been the one to set this whole thing up. After all, he’d only met him once, briefly, and his gun-running business had been shut down soon after. Not hard to link that to a Jedi. Dex hadn’t seemed deceitful when they’d spoken, but Obi-Wan was beginning to wonder. “I’m handling it,” he said, “No need to-”

The line was buzzing with static; Dex had already hung up. Confused, Obi-Wan shook his head at the commlink and put it back on his belt.

He could get out of this situation with relative speed if he was willing to reveal his identity as a Jedi. It wouldn’t be hard to wait for Garang and his friend to break in and come up onto the second floor, where Obi-Wan would be waiting, lightsaber in hand. It was hard for unprepared assailants to deal with an opponent wielding a ‘saber.

Then again, they might know exactly who he was, and they might be prepared - in which case using his blaster might wrong-foot them. But he wasn’t as good with the blaster.

His lightsaber practically hummed at his side; it was tempting to just draw it and have done with it. That would be the easy way to go about things; cut Garang’s companion down, then take him hostage to get past the guards outside. They wouldn’t shoot at their boss if they wanted any chance of being paid.

Still, it was the blunt force option, and Obi-Wan preferred a plan with more finesse - and in an ideal world would like to not tip his hand and reveal himself as a Jedi.

Still immersed in the Force, Obi-Wan felt a rush of triumph from beneath him, and sensed Garang and his companion move forward into the house. They were being quiet, hoping to surprise him.

Making a split second decision, Obi-Wan flicked his blaster to the stun setting and aimed at the top of the stairs, moving with quiet footsteps about a metre to his left. Stunning Garang’s henchman would be better than killing him.

He waited, long, agonising moments.

With slow, exaggerated caution, Garang’s companion poked his head up above the simple hole where the stairs led down to the ground floor. He was aiming at where Obi-Wan had been a moment before, which gave him a second to pull the trigger and send the man spinning into unconsciousness.

There was an _oof_ from the stairs as the man fell backward, presumably falling onto Garang just behind him. Obi-Wan used a Force-assisted leap to clear the distance across the room, dropping his blaster and drawing his lightsaber as he did so. Looking down the hole, he saw Garang struggling with the weight of the thickset man’s body. He glanced upward, his face pinching with anger at the sight of Obi-Wan looking down at him. “You spying _fuck_ -” he started, shifting his friend’s weight onto one shoulder so he could level his blaster upward.

With all that weight on one shoulder, with one foot on one step and the other on the next one down, Obi-Wan could see Garang struggling for balance. All Obi-Wan had to do was drop down and plant his feet squarely onto Garang’s right shoulder, sending the man tumbling backward down the stairs. As he yelled and succumbed to gravity, Obi-Wan used the Force to push off his shoulder, backflip, handspring on the stairs, and land on his feet back at the top.

There was silence for a few seconds after he landed; then he heard a low groan from the bottom of the stairs.

He descended, unlit lightsaber in hand, to see Garang lying on the floor, half-covered by his unconscious friend, groaning. “What the kriff was that?” he mumbled, right hand groping around on the floor for his blaster.

It had fallen a foot away from his body; Obi-Wan kicked it far out of reach and said, “That was me taking you into custody, Mr Aurlois Garang.”

Garang shut his eyes and groaned.

Obi-Wan hooked his lightsaber back onto his belt, out of sight underneath his robes, and glanced at the doorway. He had Garang at a disadvantage, but despite his words he hadn’t captured the criminal yet; there were still the three mercenaries outside to deal with.

“Who the kriff are you?” Garang demanded from the floor. “You know I have an _understanding_ with the station cops, right? Your boss will space you if he finds out about-”

“I don’t work for the station authorities,” Obi-Wan said, working through possible strategies in his head. The most obvious way to get out was by using Garang as his hostage; a blaster to their boss’ head would likely be enough to make the mercs back off. Then again, perhaps the house would have a back entrance…

“Then who the hell are you with?” Garang said. He was starting to look a little more perky now, levering himself up onto one elbow. “You a bounty hunter? I _told_ Imvago that I would pay off that debt!”

“Well, he’s getting impatient,” Obi-Wan said, deciding to play along with it.

“More like he needs some quick credits,” Garang said, sneering. “Listen here buddy, how about this - you put me in touch with Imvago, I’ll smooth things over with him, let him know you did your job, and you’ll get paid. Soon good?” At Obi-Wan’s silence he added, “Or we could make a deal, just you and me? Imvago’s a tight-fisted gundark-kriffer - I bet I can double whatever he’s paying you.”

“That kind of backstabbing isn’t good for business,” Obi-Wan said. _I’ll try the back door_ , he thought, reaching out with his senses; he couldn’t sense anyone in that direction. A house like this was likely to have some sort of back entrance for him to use.

“Every bounty hunter will sell out for a better deal,” Garang was saying, “Imvago knows that. He’s probably _expecting_ it. You should-”

“Stop talking, start moving,” Obi-Wan said, reaching for his blaster. “We’re going out-”

They both realised at the same moment that there was nothing but air in his holster.

Obi-Wan froze, remembering with painful clarity the moment he’d leapt across the room upstairs, letting his blaster drop from his hand. He could picture it, sitting innocent and useless on the floor above.

A nasty smile spread over Garang’s face. “It’s a poor bounty hunter who drops his only weapon, kid.”

Obi-Wan sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable, and pulled his lightsaber back off his belt. As Garang got to his feet, already looking around for his own blaster, Obi-Wan activated the blade and levelled it at Garang’s neck. “Not my only weapon,” he said, keeping his voice level and calm.

There was a moment of silence as Garang gazed down the blade at him, stone-faced.

“Jedi?” he asked.

“You caught me.”

Garang spat off to the side; his casual expression had transformed into a dark glare. “I _hate_ Jedi.”

“I’m aware.” Obi-Wan motioned with the ‘saber. “Back door. Let’s go.”

Garang opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, the sound of blasterfire exploded outside in the alley. Shouts followed seconds after, along with pounding footsteps and the roar of a speederbike engine.

“What in the name of-” Garang started.

His words were cut off by an explosion that destroyed the entire front wall of the house, blowing both of them off their feet. Obi-Wan reacted without thinking, throwing up a Force barrier around them that cushioned their fall and protected them from flying chunks of debris.

He and Garang ended up flat on the ground in amongst the rubble, both bruised and winded, struggling for breath.

Obi-Wan coughed, managed to drag air back into his flattened lungs, and struggled to his feet just in time to get drenched by a flood of water. The explosion had clearly caused the station’s fire prevention system to activate. Shaking the water out of his face, he looked for Garang. He was still on the ground, holding his side and groaning; Obi-Wan knelt by him and prized his hand off his ribs, but there was no blood - probably just broken. Keeping one eye on the fallen gangster, Obi-Wan turned his attention to the exposed street.

The station officials, terrified of fire in the enclosed atmosphere of the station, had installed sprinklers that gushed an impressive amount of water. Whatever fire might have been caused by the explosion was well and truly doused, but the water still flowed, and Obi-Wan could see only vague figures moving beyond it. Whoever they were, they might or might not be friendly - they could have been trying to save him, or trying to take advantage of the standoff. Either way, he didn’t want to-

His commlink began to beep. His hand wavered over it for a second, debating - and then he picked it up. “Hello?”

“Obi-Wan! Where are you?” Dex’s booming voice was immediately recognisable. “Sorry about the mess - Narai was a little overenthusiastic with the explosives-”

“That was you?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Who did you think it was, station security?” Dex laughed. “Where are you? I don’t see anything but water and rubble in there.”

“And one very bedraggled Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, a little irritated. “Ground floor, in the front room.”

The hazy figures began to come towards him; once he got close enough, Obi-Wan could see that one of them was clearly a four-armed Besalisk. Dex shouldered his way through the ruptured plate metal that had formed the front of the house and stomped over to Obi-Wan and Garang. “You got him! Good work, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan decided not to mention that he had had the gangster in his custody before Dex almost blew him to kingdom come, and just said, “I’d appreciate some help securing him.”

“And a medpack, it looks like,” Dex said, nodding at his side.

Obi-Wan glanced down, and noticed an alarming amount of blood soaking through the fabric covering his upper right arm. “Ah,” he said, as pain belatedly started to throb through his wound, “that too, probably.”

*

Really, Obi-Wan should have expected Dex to have a dark, windowless backroom where they could leave a handcuffed Garang under the careful watch of several armed ‘friends’.

What he didn’t expect was for Dex to be so insistent on taking him into the warm, surprisingly homely kitchen and sitting him down to attend to his wound.

“I’ve had worse,” he said, trying to sound reassuring as Dex added bandages to the bacta/water mixture he was boiling on the stove.

“Humans always say they’ve had worse,” Dex said, pulling a bandage out of the water and wringing it a little. “Why d’ya take such pride in your cuts getting infected, huh?”

“That’s a good point,” Obi-Wan said, wincing as the bacta-soaked bandage hit his wound. Earlier he’d shucked the top layers of his tunics and pulled his arm out of the remaining layer, baring it for inspection and revealing a rather deep puncture wound that he suspected had come from landing on something sharp in the debris. It had been cleaned and was now producing only a trickle of blood, which was a good sign.

 “You keep that tied on tight, and no fiddling with it,” Dex said as he secured the final knot. “No itching, loosening, taking off, or otherwise meddling. Just let it do its work.”

“You obviously have experience with unruly patients,” Obi-Wan said, attempting and failing to get his arm back into the sleeve of his tunic. It hurt too much to bend his arm at the angle required, so he left it.

“And I can always tell who’s going to be one,” Dex said. “Now, before you go in there and start picking a fight with Garang, you sit there and get some food down you. You look like you could use it; you’re thin as a twig.”

“Don’t all humans look thin to you?”

“Oh, sure,” Dex stirred whatever was cooking in the big stew pot on the stove, “But I’ve learned how to tell the thin ones from the _malnourished_ ones.” He tasted his concoction, smacking his lips together with appreciation, before spooning a big helping into a chipped china bowl. “Eat this,” he instructed, setting it down in front of Obi-Wan. “All of it. Just don’t ask what’s in it.”

Obi-Wan brought his spoon to his lips with trepidation, but the stew tasted wonderful. He found himself wolfing it down in almost no time. “If the only condition for getting more of that is not asking what’s in it, I’m game,” he laughed.

“Knew I’d get ya,” Dex said, refilling his bowl with a wink.

Something about the wink made Obi-Wan look down at his soup with warm cheeks. _People aren’t flirting every time they’re nice to you, Obi-Wan,_ he silently berated himself.

When Obi-Wan had demolished the second bowl of soup, Dex asked, “So what are we doing with this joker, then? He can’t sit in my stockroom forever.”

“He knows about the Pa’trake robbery,” Obi-Wan said, “Did you hear about that?”

“All those fire rubies gone? The _entire Outer Rim_ heard about that one.” Dex raised his eyeridges. “Didn’t think it would be the kind of thing to interest a Jedi, though.”

“The Pa’trake family think their rivals, the Orotga, were behind the whole thing. The resulting argument is having…repercussions in the Core. I need to find out from Garang if the Orotga really were backing the robbery, or if not them, who was. Finding the fire rubies would be a bonus.”

Dex laughed. “Garang may look like a idiot, but he’s good. Those fire rubies will be long gone. Who financed the robbery, on the other hand…” Dex shrugged. “You might be able to get him to tell you that.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “‘Might’?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Obi-Wan, but you’re more cute than tough.”

“‘Cute’?” Obi-Wan asked, wrinkling his nose. When Dex just laughed, he said, “I suppose all humans look cute rather than tough, to you.”

“None of you look tough,” Dex said, “but only the cute ones are cute.” He threw Obi-Wan another wink, while Obi-Wan just blinked back at him stupidly. “Come on, then, tough Jedi. Let’s go question this piece of bantha scat.”

Following him out of the room, Obi-Wan shook himself. _He’s not flirting. Focus on the job_.

Still, it was hard not to respond to Dex’s warm manner, or notice his impressive physique. Those big hands, for one. All _four_ of them.

 _Focus_ , Obi-Wan admonished himself; but he could tell the second half of this job was going to be just as tough as the first - if for different reasons.

/

Garang did, as it turned out, know something about the Pa’trake robbery. It took a lot of convincing, negotiating and smooth talking, but Obi-Wan eventually managed to wheedle it all out of him. He had to promise Garang a pardon in return - which meant he would be cleared of criminal charges in all Republic territories within the Outer and Mid Rim - but the Council had already cleared him to do that.

With the confirmation datapad in hand, Garang swaggered out the door of Dex’s place, pausing only to send a dirty look Obi-Wan’s way. “Next time we meet, all bets are off, Jedi,” he snapped, “I’ll get you back for this.”

“I just got you cleared of fifty three separate criminal charges,” Obi-Wan said with a raised eyebrow.

Garang spat off to the side. “No one messes with Aurlois Garang and gets away with it.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and stepped back inside, not bothering to grace that statement with a response. Back in the kitchen, Dex and his friends were waiting, all discussing the interrogation in loud voices. As Obi-Wan stepped back into the room, Dex asked over the noise, “He gone?” Obi-Wan nodded. “Show’s over, folks,” Dex announced, his voice carrying over the noise with ease. “Now get out of my house, you rabble!”

Everyone laughed, and people began to trickle out in ones and twos, until in no time at all Obi-Wan and Dex were the only ones left.

“Looks like you solved your case,” Dex said, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“Looks like I did,” Obi-Wan agreed.

“So, what happens now?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Now, I go back to Coruscant.”

Dex looked surprised. “Right away?”

“Why? Should I be doing something else?”

Dex laughed. “Slowing down for one hot second? I think the only time I’ve seen you not on the job…actually, I don’t think I _have_ seen you off the job.”

“Did you…have something in mind?” Obi-Wan asked.

“You need to relax somehow, Jedi.” Dex stopped, but Obi-Wan knew what he was going to propose. He knew Qui-Gon would disapprove, if he were here.

But Obi-Wan wouldn’t be forming any attachments. He was just going to be…adventurous.

“Well, I don’t have to leave for Coruscant immediately,” he said.

Dex grinned.


End file.
